


take him and cut him out in little stars

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes her a while to figure out that even trapped inside the data core; she can still escape, using the TARDIS as a link.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take him and cut him out in little stars

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for The Name of the Doctor. Story title from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

It takes her a while to figure out that even trapped inside the data core; she can still escape, using the TARDIS as a link. In a way, it’s almost like Stormcage, except she doesn’t keep coming back of her own free will. She comes back because she has no choice – she is an echo now and the outside world will only sustain her for so long. But when she does escape, there is only one place she wants to be. She cannot leave him, not even in death.

 

The first time she materializes unseen in the TARDIS, it’s in the library. Slouched in a plush armchair, older and sadder than she’s ever seen him, is her Doctor, Amy’s reading glasses perched on his nose and a book open in his lap. River snorts and mutters, “From one library into another. I think books are my destiny, sweetie.”

 

The Doctor visibly flinches, fingers tightening around his book and his eyes drifting somewhere near her feet.

 

River freezes in place, staring at him cautiously. “Doctor? Can you hear me?”

 

His eyes slide back to his book and he blinks rapidly at the words on the page, jaw tightening as he slouches further in his seat. He doesn’t spare her another glance and River sighs quietly, stuffing down the hope she refuses to admit she’d ever felt. “Of course not.” Slowly, she walks around to the back of his chair and leans over, her hair brushing his neck as she reads over his shoulder. It’s a book he’s read before, more than once, and River purses her lips, mouth by his ear. “You always come back to your favorites, don’t you?”

 

He exhales shakily, the book in his hands trembling.

 

“So where does that leave me?”

 

-

 

Some days, she stays in the data core, living out her afterlife in fiction and history, pretending there is nowhere else she’d rather be. These are days when being at his side and having him look somewhere just over her shoulder instead of at her is too much to handle. Some days, it hurts more than others. But those days she is just biding her time – she always comes back.

 

She follows the Doctor around like his own personal phantom, haunting his footsteps. She offers cheeky commentary when he gets himself into trouble, rolls her eyes when he loses the TARDIS, and sits in the empty chair across from him when he goes to their favorite café in Paris, watching him order her coffee just the way she likes it and place it in front of her like she’s really there. She _is_ and she wishes there was a way to tell him that. He sips his coffee while staring at her untouched cup. River slides her hand across the table until her fingers almost touch his, unable to bear the thought of moving that extra inch and feeling her hand slip through his.

 

But her favorite pastime is sitting with him while he tinkers beneath the TARDIS console. It’s one of the few times he stays still and River likes to sit at his feet and watch his brow furrow as he concentrates. She talks to him – about what life is like in the data core, about how much she misses his touch, and sometimes, she reminisces about the happier times in their marriage. Mostly, she scolds him for not visiting – she’s always doing all the work in their relationship.

 

“I know you hate goodbyes, but there is such a thing as closure, honey,” she says, and watches his grip tighten on the wrench in his hand. “It might help you move on.”

 

His jaw flexes and River glances at what he’s working on, confused when she doesn’t find a problem.

 

“If you’re not going to come back, what was the point in saving me at all? So I can be another dusty book in your library? Part of a collection – first edition River Song?”

 

His hand slips and the wires he’s fiddling with spark. The wrench falls from his hand and smacks him in the forehead. River rests her chin in her palm and watches as he splutters and curses in Gallifreyan under his breath.

 

“Use the spanner, dear.”

 

His fingers close around the spanner almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth and River bites her lip hard, not sure if she’s fighting back a smile or a sob.

 

-

 

She stays with him when Clara flees with Merry to safety, urging him to think of something, anything that will save him and everyone else. She stands by his side with tears slipping down her cheeks as he begs a merciless, hungry god to take away his memories, wishing she could reach out and slap him, wishing she could cradle him to her as he crumples to his knees. She tries to, crouching beside him and attempting to slide her fingers soothingly through his hair, just the way he likes. She can feel his silken hair beneath her fingertips but the Doctor doesn’t seem to feel her, shuddering in her imaginary embrace, a strangled sob in his throat.

 

Comfort and protection are no longer things she can offer him and it makes her feel useless but River stays anyway. Leaving him has never been an option. She hovers at his back as beautiful, brilliant Clara saves the day, saves the Doctor the way River no longer can.

 

“I like her,” she whispers as she stands with the Doctor in the doorway of the TARDIS, watching Clara walk away, back home. “Another good choice, my love.”

 

The Doctor’s lips twitch and River pretends it’s because he’s glad of her approval. He’s still weak from allowing his memories to be fed on and he walks slowly to his bedroom with the gait of a man much older than he appears, River trailing behind him.

 

He doesn’t sleep in their bedroom anymore and she’s glad of it, glad that he isn’t stuck with memories of her, even if she refuses to let go of him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, she watches him shed his jacket, waistcoat, braces and bowtie, dropping all of them carelessly to the floor. All except the bowtie, which he places on his nightstand without looking at it. When he toes off his shoes and slips beneath the sheets, River stretches out beside him on her side of the bed, not attempting to touch him.

 

It’s almost unbearable, seeing him, inhaling the familiar scent of time and Jammie Dodgers, but unable to reach out and touch him, to have him recognize those touches and _look_ at her. It’s a longing, an ache that will never truly go away.

 

The Doctor lies stiffly beside her and she can’t help but try to lighten the mood, if only for herself, quipping, “Sweetie, you haven’t touched me in weeks. Is there someone else?”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, feeling contrite despite knowing he didn’t hear a word she said. “Being dead has done nothing for my sense of humor.”

 

He pulls the blanket up to his chin.

 

After a moment of silence, she ventures in a quiet, pained voice, “You will, you know. One day.” She swallows. “Find someone else, I mean.”

 

He grips the blanket just a little tighter, like he’s already fighting off nightmares.

 

River smiles tremulously at his profile and says, “I’ll leave you for good, then. I will be so happy for you, my love. You deserve love. But I don’t think I could bear to watch. A girl doesn’t like to share, you know.”

 

The Doctor turns over suddenly on his side, his back to her as he buries his face in his pillow.

 

She blinks back tears, whispering, “Goodnight, sweetie.”

 

During the night, he rolls over to face her side of the bed, one long arm outstretched as if by habit. If River closes her eyes, she can almost feel the warmth of his arm around her waist.

 

-

 

When he steps into the pocket universe to retrieve the crash-landed time traveler, she is right beside him. Locked inside a room in the house Emma has mentally reconstructed, River leans her back against the door, as if her non-existent weight will somehow stop the creature from breaking through.

 

Hillah picks up the harness and asks, “What about you?”

 

“I’ll be next,” the Doctor says dismissively, and River narrows her eyes at the look on his face.

 

“Yes, you will,” she says lowly. “I did not learn how to travel through dimensions and cyberspace to see you just to watch you trap yourself in a pocket universe, you idiot!”

 

But seconds after Hillah goes through, the light of the portal vanishes and suddenly, they’re standing in a forest again, surrounded by fog and ominous sounds. Of course, the first thing the Doctor does is bend down to pick up his bowtie.

 

River rolls her eyes fondly and says, “Run, sweetie.”

 

For once, he listens.

 

Without the TARDIS to stabilize her, she can feel herself starting to fade – she’s been with him too long this time – but she refuses to leave. Not now, not when he isn’t safe. She grits her teeth and holds on. If he’s going to be trapped inside a pocket universe then by god, so is she.

 

She’s there when he’s afraid, she’s there when the creature tackles him to the ground, beating uselessly at its back and shouting that if it harms a hair on his ridiculous head, she’ll haunt _it_ forever instead. When the Doctor laughs, she stares at him, startled. “Doctor -?” And then she hears it – the TARDIS. Relief that he’s safe overwhelms any disappointment that he hadn’t actually heard her.

 

River figures out the truth before he does. Too busy handing out marriage advice; he’s slower on the uptake. “Hold hands. And don’t let go. That’s the secret.”

 

He turns on his heel to walk back to the TARDIS and River trails after him with a sing-song, “Monsters need to hold hands too, honey.” He stops in his tracks and River smiles. “Ah, there’s that famous Time Lord brain. It’s getting slow in your old age.”

 

He whirls, thumping himself on the forehead. “I am so slow!”

 

She sighs. “We row so much less now that I’m dead. Do you have to be so agreeable? Where’s the spark?”

 

He saves the day. Of course he does.

 

“This isn’t a ghost story,” he says with relish. “It’s a love story.”

 

River glances at him sharply, hearts pounding, but he doesn’t look at her. Instead, he hastily removes his arm from Clara’s shoulders and she tells herself that one day, she’ll stop hoping he can see her.

 

-

 

His grip on her wrist is so startling – the first _real_ thing she has felt in so long – that for a moment, she can’t speak. “H-how are you even doing that? I’m not really here.”

 

He doesn’t let go of her wrist, those long fingers holding on tightly as he looks into her eyes, his gaze so painfully sad. “You are always here to me. And I always listen.”

 

She stares at him, remembering every word she has said to him when she was certain he couldn’t hear.

 

“And I can _always_ see you.”

 

Believing he couldn’t hear her had made her so very vulnerable in front of him, and she can’t help but feel angry and a little mortified that he’d never let her know. “Then why didn’t you speak to me?”

 

“Because I thought it would hurt too much.”

 

She swallows. “I believe I could have coped.”

 

“No.” He takes a step toward her, still holding her wrist like he can’t bring himself to let go, and she looks up into ancient eyes that no longer look past her but instead, right into her own. “I mean I thought it would hurt me. And I was right.”

 

He kisses her and it tastes like goodbye.

 

-

 

When she appears beside him in the TARDIS library once more, right next to him on the sofa, he doesn’t even look up from his book as he asks, “Aren’t you tired of libraries, Professor?”

 

She beams, leaning into his side and letting out a happy sigh when he rests his chin on top of her head. “A bit. But my husband never takes me anywhere anymore.”

 

He puts aside his book and wraps strong, gangly arms around her. “You know, the first time I heard you, I thought I was going mad.”

 

“You _are_ mad,” she replies. “But I had nothing to do with it.”

 

“I think you’ll find you had everything to do with it, River Song.” He tugs her into his lap and she curls up there quite willingly. His fingers thread through her hair and she relaxes into the embrace she thought she would never feel again. Quietly, he confesses, “When you said goodbye, I thought you meant forever.”

 

River smiles. “Why? Just because I faded away to nothing right in front of you? You’re so clingy, Doctor.”

 

He snorts.

 

She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his throat. “I’m afraid you can’t get rid of me that easily, my love.”

 

“Good.” He lifts her chin and her eyes fill up as he kisses her hungrily, his mouth moving over hers like it’s the last time. He clutches her to him, one hand tight in her hair and the other gripping her waist, but River gives as good as she gets, wrapping her legs around his hips and pressing as close as she can get, both of them greedy for the touch they’ve been deprived of for too long. They’re both trembling when they finally part and the Doctor lays a shaking hand to her cheek. “My very own data ghost,” he whispers. “Never stop haunting me.”

 

She leaves a kiss to the spot beneath his ear. “You’ll want me to, one day.”

 

He shakes his head vehemently.

 

“Doctor -”

 

“ _No_.” The word is fierce, certain, and River shuts her eyes, pained. His lips brush hers again gently. “Besides, I think I like it better this way.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He nods, smile mischievous. “No one can see you but me, River. Do you know what that means?” When she stares at him blankly, he plucks at her jacket. “You don’t need these.”

 

She throws her head back and laughs. “I think walking around in my altogether might distract you, sweetie.”

 

He harrumphs, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

 

River strokes her fingers over his cheek. “When you’re ready to let go, tell me. And I’ll leave.”

 

His arms tighten around her, a silent refusal. “I’m never letting go again.”

 

“You say that now,” she says with a sigh. “But one day, you’ll want a wife everyone else can see. You’ll be the daft old man who talks to himself – how will you ever get a companion that way?”

 

He lifts his head to fix her with a solemn stare, his eyes burning with intensity. “I don’t care if anyone else can see you. I can.” He cups her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks tenderly. “Don’t you see, River? I thought I would never see you again, never touch you or hear your voice.” He kisses her softly, his hold on her fierce and protective, as if she might fade away at any moment. “This is more than enough.”

 

And it will have to be. For now.


End file.
